Short Term Memory
Ever wonder how a good waiter or waitress can take your order and that of other tables and never write a thing down? And they do this all night never making a mistake. Bluma Zeigarnik wondered the same thing about this phenomena at a restaurant while observing the same thing. She watched them for hours taking orders by memory then seemingly eliminating the memory once the food was served making room for the next order in their memory.
Zeigarnik, a Russian psychologist, was intrigued and proceeded to find out how the short term memory worked. Using participants in lab tests she gave those tasks to complete without interruption and some tasks where she took them away before completing the task. Her discovery showed the people remembered the unfinished tasks twice as much as the completed ones. Understanding the Zeigarnik response it makes sense why difficult, hard to complete puzzles like Rubik’s Cube and TV serial type programs with cliffhangers at the close of each week have such a big following. Short term memory can’t dispose unfinished tasks easily. Like a computer it waits for you to come back and finish.
Understanding the Zeigarnik process can also help prevent procrastination by at least starting even a small piece of a project. If the task seems overwhelming and you are at a loss of where to start you can begin anywhere even with an insignificant action. Once it is in your short term memory, hanging in the air unfinished, you will be driven to complete it. It remains there like the puzzle and the cliff hanger. Although the technique is simple, we often forget it because we get so wrapped up in thinking about the most difficult parts of our projects. The sense of foreboding can be a big contributor to procrastination. If you have a goal you are passionate to reach understanding Zeigarnik could be your road to success.
Bye Bye Landlines
Hello? I think I’ve been disconnected!
What’s the future of landlines I wonder? I’m old enough to remember rotary dials in my elementary years and prided my ability to remember all my family and friends phone numbers. The sound of the ring was an annoying screech that you sprinted to answer because it automatically kicked off a fight or flight response in your body until you did. By the time it’s slow return on the rotary wheel for each and every number and finally connection you could make three cell phone calls and answer the door at the same time. But there was something comforting about holding that heavy handset spooned against your neck. Interruptions were taboo in polite society except for kids too young to ground them if they did. And of course the ability to slam the receiver down to show them you were fed up. That’s a whole piece of body language gone now. The red end button just doesn’t convey the same emotion.
There was no voice mail and no answering machines yet so if your sister was on the home phone with her boyfriend and you were languishing in the nurse’s office throwing up you just had to wait. That exasperating busy beep interrupted many opportunities to join friends going swimming or shopping too.
By the time I started high school the push button phones came out and in colors. You could also order one that actually fit on a wall with a 6’ cord. We bought one in Harvest Gold for the kitchen wall. My friends were pretty impressed. We had two phones now but you could only use one at a time. I was lucky because my Dad was a house painter who used the phone for business so we had a private line. Although my calls were timed by my parents at least I didn’t have to deal with the dreaded party line like my friends.
A few years later they came out with “princess” phones that I fell in love with and that my dad said he would never use if it was the last phone working in the house. One of the problems with it though was the handset was heavier than the base so it was always in danger of being drug off the nightstand. Regardless, it was high fashion and made you want to sit up straight and cross your legs to talk.
Landlines made you want to stay at home to wait for those important calls like boyfriends and the latest gossip. The only time I drifted from it was to join the people I was waiting to hear from or a close neighbor. I could hear our phone ring two houses away, jump an evergreen hedge, slide into the kitchen and answer it before the third ring. The phone was every bit as addictive as cell phones are today. We were just more confined so the general public did not see people walking around on phones like today.
It was only 15 years ago that I got my first cell phone and only 5 years ago my first “smart” phone. I love the freedom to be available anywhere I go and I hate the freedom of being available. At my age if I turn it off every kid I have would be hunting me down thinking the worse. But, since I can’t jump those hedges and do nothing near sliding into the kitchen anymore I’m happy it’s always in a room with me. I guess evidently even businesses will stop using landlines and trade off to better technology. Will all the telephone poles come down replaced with more cell phone towers?
I’m just pondering though if my great grandchildren will even know what that box with glass is that Superman changes his outfit in.
Some of you won’t even remember pantyhose and it’s just as well. For some reason society back then felt it was an absolute necessity for nice girls to wear under their dresses and skirts along with a tourniquet called a girdle. The natural look was definitely not in. Just about everything you put together for a night of dancing, partying or visiting friends was fake. Wigs and hair extensions were in, false eyelashes, the girdle, perfume, plastic jewelry, make-up including fake blush and the dreaded pantyhose. It was all about others pleasure looking at you not your comfort.
You didn’t dare go to church, where ladies did not were slacks, or to a wedding or any event where you had to dress up or even your workplace with bare legs. Pantyhose was expensive so the average woman only had about three pairs. They would get runs easily, really easily. They came in different skin shades and some of the more expensive ones had what they called “control top” that was to hold your stomach in. These were made of nylon that stretched so unless your stomach was already flat it was wasted money. Then there were the “nude toe” so you could were them with sandals. Nothing like putting the fragile nylon right out there in front so they could snag everything they touched. They were HOT. I grew up in Phoenix and wearing pantyhose in 120 degrees should qualify as an Iron Woman marathon event.
So, I pondered why they were invented, what was the purpose? After digging in the history I found the answer appalling. The main function was to hide any scars or veins and make us more desirable to men. It’s just another example of societies expectations of women’s perfection. Pantyhose really exploded on the market in the late 50’s to early 60’s with the mini-skirt faze. But this generation would also bring it to a close with the feminist movement and the hippie natural look and the acceptance of women wearing trousers and jeans. Just shows you how much power women really have if they unite their purchasing power.
L’eggs, one of the largest manufactures of pantyhose, is trying a comeback but this throwback scheme is trying to influence young women who are smarter, more empowered and self-assured who are not interested in a product their grandmothers used. Tanning beds and ultra-rich lotions is all that’s needed now for a much more active and comfortable lifestyle. Plus the nylon material is not biodegradable.
I haven’t wore pantyhose since 1968 and I don’t miss it one bit. It’s also been almost that long since I wore a dress. Some things are best left in the past like suffocating girdles, garter belts, plastic jewelry and pantyhose.
Why, why, why are so many government workers rude? I’ve pondered this question all my life but especially during my 26 years as a disability advocate. I experienced people who conquered obstacles so difficult that the impossibility of it was stunning. They came in with pride not regrets of their condition because they had beat the prognosis. Then these same beautiful souls would get humiliated, ignored and embarrassed by some worker at social security, Medicaid or food stamp office as if they were slackers and loafers instead of incredibility courageous and independent. Why would anyone want to disenfranchise another?
There is no satisfactory avenue to complain about staff. Their jobs are very secure as they are protected under the Federal Government Employee’s Union. It is almost impossible to get fired as long as they perform the essential functions of the job which is correct and timely paperwork and does not include politeness. Performance reviews are based on job duties alone and merely being rude to a citizen needing help apparently doesn’t qualify as dereliction of duty. Essentially you’re in for life unless you want to quit.
There is absolutely no incentive to treat people like human beings. In the private business sector these individuals would not last a day. You wonder if these civil workers are products of lower upbringing and enjoy their temporary power over someone who doesn’t understand the overly complicated system.
There needs to be some drastic changes to a system that encourages efficiency over empathy. The government needs to hold their staff to a higher standard and eliminate the “us vs them” mentality. There are many good staff in these government offices also but they are overshadowed by the ugliness of their co-workers and suffer the same reputation they don’t deserve.
A few things you can do are let the supervisor know how you appreciated a good staff. Complaints never go anywhere but compliments do. For bad situations get in touch with your U. S. Congressmen’s office. Helping constituents cut through red tape is the kind of stuff that makes happy voters.
“Rudeness is the weak man’s imitation of strength.” ― Eric Hoffer, The Passionate State of Mind: And Other Aphorisms
Social Movements – Good or Bad?
Social movements are the cornerstone of the American freedom of speech. Like tiny rebellions they are everywhere and the number and scope keeps growing and expanding. Social movements are a major vehicle for ordinary people’s participation in public politics. This political or cultural conflict is formed from a shared collective identity. Some of the more well-known movements are civil rights, feminist, disability, anti-war, Ku Klux Klan, Labor, environmental, Christian fundamentalist and a list of at least a hundred more most of us never heard of. Whether you agree with a movements agenda or not it is a groups right to protest and if successful, bring about social change.
I’ve belonged to a few briefly throughout my life but found myself less and less active because I eventually found myself in conflict with the movement’s conduct more often than with the barriers preventing social change. Social influence can be a powerful tool used to create conformity. It can be used constructively or destructively depending on the agenda of the dominate members. As humans we crave to belong, to be part of something and to fit in. How far we are willing to adjust in order to gain acceptance and avoid rejection depends on our level of self-confidence and strength of our self-identity. Conformity is the engine of “movements” like the Civil Rights Movement or the Disability Movement. By color or disability you are automatically accepted but may not necessarily agree with every concept or ideal that comes from the groupthink meetings forming them.
Groups base their success in the advocacy arena on projecting a united front. Although the discrimination barriers they are fighting to remove may never have happened to you there is a feeling of guilt if you don’t join and support the movement. The same person who belongs, however, usually acts, dresses and speaks differently at work or church or around gatherings that include non-disabled or Caucasian peers. It’s that compelling need to be accepted in our surroundings that pushes aside the true identity of most people. Although well intended most of these groups demand unquestioned allegiance and discourage individual thinking. Conformity in purpose, conformity in thinking, conformity in actions.
Even when given the opportunity to voice their opinion in a groupthink meeting most members would rather stay silent than be ridiculed by the dominate members. This lack of speaking up is brought on by a member or members so overbearing and intolerant of others opinion that intimidation rules the meeting. The consequence is that the group is weakened by members who do not have full buy-in of the purpose they are fighting for. These disenfranchised members speak differently when alone but are paralyzed by fear of rejection to speak up in the group.
This kind of intolerant atmosphere can easily be used destructively to incite members to action like hunger strikes, property damage or even riots. Those who are not comfortable with conflict get swept along regardless because of the need to impress the others. To them it’s not about the purpose as much as it’s about performing to the expectations of others. Some “movements” have made much needed social reform and have been very successful in building cohesiveness among their followers. However, I’m very careful when participating in any movement and observe if there are dominate leaders who do not encourage others ideas and questions. If I see it exists, I’m out of there.
Keeping Up with Technology No Matter Your Age
Seniors traditionally are uncomfortable with change. They resent products and services disappearing and morphing into newer versions or eliminated altogether. For this group it also comes at a time when their synapses might not fire as quickly, memory is becoming harder to retain and even focus takes more effort. The Baby Boomers have been using technology for the last 30 years but did not grow up with it so learning curves are difficult the new improved is relentless. Many of us didn’t even have TV’s during our early elementary school years. Our learning curves involved how to work physical things like bicycles, swimming the breast stroke, skating, sports or creative arts.
Life moves onward so fast now. Like being on a really fast merry-go-round things past by in a blur but as it slows down periodically you begin to recognize the landscape and all of a sudden you notice things are missing since the last time you slowed down enough to notice. There are no pay phones, big blue mail boxes sitting on corners, VHS rental stores, paper maps or full service gas stations to mention a few and on their way out is land lines, CD’s, music stores, small bookstores, classified ads, cameras that use film, wrist watches, yellow pages and DVD players.
There are many I did not get around to mentioning that have already been phased out and much more in the process right now. However, there is an upside to this ever moving, ever changing, momentum of progress. New technology has and will continue to open doors of freedom for all ages. The ability to multi task well into the golden years is made possible by cell phones, web search options and wireless design. Being older or disabled is no longer confining because of the safety of cell phones to stay in contact. As they say “knowledge is power” and web research gives you unlimited power. Entertainment is enjoyed through internet TV which can stream movies as well as offer closed captioning, hearing enhancement and visual settings for low vision.
Social media sites enable seniors to keep in touch with family no matter how distant and web cam opens yet more doors. In my opinion the time spent over coming frustration and fear in order to learn new technology is well worth it. It will literally set you free to enjoy life independently and on your own terms. If you want to age in place be sure to put cutting edge technology in that place. http://www.independence4ever.org
April – 1989
Recovery was slow and tormenting. It took almost two weeks to wean me off the ventilator that had pushed oxygen into my lungs for 91 days but my lungs were ready to take over now. They finally cut my medications back so I’m beginning to think more clearly and remember a few things before the illness. I have permanent systemic nerve damage and severe hand contractures, I may or may not walk again and I cannot raise my arms above my waist, I still try to make sense of what happened to me and why but I’m ready to push through whatever it takes to get my life back.
Soon as my ex entered the room I demanded he tell me where the children were and why I have not seen them. His shoulders slumped and he looked at the floor which immediately raised my anxiety level. He then explained our son was with him but the girls are in Arizona because my youngest daughter, 13 years old, was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Non-Lymphoma stage 4 the week I went into a coma. A parent had to sign for treatments so her father came and took her and her sister back to Phoenix.
I stare at him in disbelief but I can tell it’s true. My mind is spinning and a silent primal scream comes from a place so deep in my Soul that I am trembling. Finally I find my voice, “CANCER? CANCER”? I thought my life was in chaos before but this is bedlam. “I have to talk to her, I plead. “No I have to go to her”, I yell. I’m thinking of three days ago when I sat up for the first time and only lasted a few minutes before passing out. I am beside myself with agony with the realization of the debilitating status of my body. This can’t be happening! We were all a healthy family just last summer. Its late evening so the nurses said they will help me call her in the morning and that helps to calm me a little.
I can’t sleep from overwhelming fear for my daughter. I shut my eyes when anyone comes in so they won’t give me any strong medication. I can’t wait until morning when I can hear her voice. But, sometime during the night they caught on I was faking and without my knowledge gave me a huge dose of valium through my IV. I was out for two days. Another two days of my life gone. I was beyond furious. The realization they could take complete control of me “for my own good” was a sickening reality and a horrifying one. The only other facility legally allowed to do that is incarceration.
I demanded they hold the phone for me to call my daughter. I felt better talking to her. She was finishing her chemo and radiation in a few months. I wanted to hold her, to rock her. She was so brave and so strong and without her mother. I promised soon as I got out of this hospital and she was finished with treatments she would come home. I called her every night.
Anger was my motivator and I used it to push myself to overcome each physical barrier that would qualify me for discharge. I was in constant fear they would drug me again “for my own good”. I tried to act the right way, say the right things, and not ask for pain medication. It was more stressful than the permanent disabilities I was left with. I lied about having home supports, going to an accessible house and a scheduled appointment with rehab in Pensacola. I was actually going home to an RV, no supports except for a 7year old son and an ex who I continually fought with. There was no way I was going to a 6 month rehab treatment as recommended. I knew by now this satellite hospital had no follow up staff to verify my story. I wanted to bring my daughters home as soon as possible and I no longer trusted the medical field to compromise with me or to honor my decisions.
By the beginning of May I was finally going home. The real struggle was just beginning.
Living inside a serious illness puts you, literally, into someone else’s hands. You lose a sense of autonomy and power. You are isolated, sealed into the private rooms of your own mind. You are in excruciating pain but it is hard for those outside the illness to understand, even those extensively trained for such work. Minutes have become the same as hours. There is no escape, no distraction, no peace.
I had some great nurses and I had a few who made me feel like I was just a patient with lots of needs they did not have time for. Those nurses came in handled me roughly, never made eye contact, completed their tasks and left without ever speaking. I could only move my eyes not yet able to speak. I was a prisoner without a crime.
I cannot emphasize enough how much I wanted someone to look at me, to touch me, to remind me I was still part of the human race. Even after endless painful turning of my body that had wasted to skin and skeleton, I longed for physical touch. Tears rolled down the side of my face as I tried to remember the last time someone caressed me. It was long, long ago before I was ever sick before I lost my first love.
All my life my Mother had fought for me, had kept me safe. At even the hint of harm she threw open her wings of courage and fought. But, she was not here and for the first time in my life I was starkly vulnerable and way too debilitated to fight for myself. I needed to know there was someone who would fight for my life. I became more afraid that no one might care than I did of dying.
I thought of my children and where they could be. Why haven’t they come to see me? I needed to look at them, to hear their voices. I became angry locked in this body. The more I thought of my children the more infuriated I became. I felt a rush of power come over me, a fury that pushed me over some invisible barrier and busted through the wall of helplessness.
And then, this vehicle that had failed me, that the doctors said had no hope of recovering from the severe damage the sickness had ravaged on it, began to heal itself. My vitals started to stabilize; my heart began to beat stronger and with balanced rhythm. My kidneys began to function and my ability to push breath began triggering the ventilator alarm forcing them to start weaning me off of it. I was visibly awake and aware. I was back, I knew it, and at that moment my cup runneth over with the desire to live again and I was going to fight with every cell in my body.
Out of Body Out of Time
It is now the day before the deadline to remove me from life support. My body is in the same critical condition. The doctor has told my ex to go ahead and make funeral arrangements. They have done all they can do. But life has a way of flexing its muscles just when you think there’s no hope. I am about to be reborn and enter a life full of purpose. However, before that can happen struggle and determination like I’ve never known before will have to be conquered. It will stretch my mental and physical endurance to the breaking point. It is a destiny I had never even considered and a 360 degree turn of where I was going before.
Dr Recall – end of March 1989
The doctor just left a meeting with the hospital ethics committee and met with my ex to confirm the decision to take me off life support was really what he wanted. The other option would be to try and move me regardless of risk to a facility appropriate for long term critical care. The doctor stated he felt I would not make the trip before I coded but wanted to put it as an option. My ex stood by his decision. I think he was afraid I would linger there the rest of my life.
My Spirit – end of March 1989
I realize, beyond doubt, I have to go back. I must answer my destiny whatever it is. The resistance is pulsing within me viewing that pitiful body. What could I possibly give to humanity now? All the questions, all the ambiguity and perplexity would not be answered on this side. I had to live it.
My Spirit – evening before the date with death
Focusing back in the body was seamless but painful beyond belief. I have made a commitment to follow my destiny so whatever it takes I must do. Memories from my life started to flow back into me like a tsunami. Where are my children? What happened to me? Where am I? How long was I asleep? I cannot talk or move. The nurse notices my eyes are open and I hear her calling for the doctor. The ventilator alarm is screeching because I am breathing, although shallow, and trigging it because the breath I take replaces the machines. It thinks I am not breathing. Medical staff rush in to take vitals and re-evaluate my condition. No one expected my recovery and they are in amazement.
I am still critical but this is the first sign of improvement in three months and it is only the beginning.
Nothing is improving my condition including time. It’s the third month of the coma and I remain unresponsive. When patients show no improvement they are usually transferred to a nursing home or rehab but there are no nursing homes around that can deal with such an unstable situation. There is a rehab in Pensacola but I am too fragile to transport. The financial office is voicing their discontent because it is costing a lot of money to keep me alive. They are pressuring my doctor to re-evaluate the justification of continuing life support with apparently no hope of recovery. He is in a precarious situation so he lets the decision rest with my ex-husband who he thinks is my legal husband. My life literally lies in the hands of the man I was trying to flee from.
My daughters have been flown back to their father in Arizona as my youngest daughter at 13 yrs. has just been diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma stage 4 while I am in a coma. My son remains with his dad here in Destin who I must give credit has stayed with me instead of fleeing with our son. My relatives are unaware of how critical I am and live across the United States so are not available. I am basically alone now.
DR Recall – March 1989
My body remains in limbo. The life support equipment is sustaining my life. I cannot live without it. The doctor must make a time line as to how long to continue treatment with no improvement and give to the financial department who are now insisting there has to be an end to the money being spent on this expensive care. The dilemma he sees is that I have brain activity but nothing else. He confers with my ex-husband who breaks down and states I never wanted to be kept alive on machines and gives his permission to pull the plug by next week if there’s no improvement. This mercy killing has now been put in place. Time is running out.
My Spirit – March 1989
I touch the colors in sequence like I’m instructed and the melody fills my Soul then I am back but not in my body. I watch the nurses caring for me. The body is in agony which I can feel. The nerve endings are hyperextended and even a breeze as the nurse walks by is excruciating. My body is on fire from a raging fever and the muscles ache from not being used. As the nurses attempt to reposition me my back feels as though it will snap in two. My hands are curled into contractures. Nothing is functioning on its own. I do not understand why I came back and I do not want to stay. There is too much devastation here.
I turn away and I am back in beauty and peace. This is where I want to remain. But I am conflicted in my decision because I have a feeling I am not done with this life. I have not finished. It is so ethereal sitting here in front of the magnificent alabaster buildings. I ask in the stillness of the mist why I am unsettled and I hear it say, because you have not given all the gifts you intended to share this lifetime. What are they? I ask. You will discover them it says if you return. But, I don’t want to still. I am aware the body cannot last much longer and then I will not have a choice. The voice speaks again and tells me if I choose to return there will be guardians to watch over me and guide but I am also welcome to stay here. “I am afraid”, I say “that the body is not fighting. It seems to have lost its will to live, its strength and determination.” “That’s because it does not possess those things within its vessel, you are carrying those things within you and unless your Spirit returns your vessel will fail to thrive. Every single Soul has that choice.”
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